Shuriken
by Azure dream
Summary: [oneshot]The ninja won't let her hair grow...yuffentine if you squint.


Yuffie frowned as she looked over the side of the bridge into the water; her hair had gotten shaggy, longer than it had been in years. It seemed that she had totally forgotten her appearance while traveling with AVALANCHE, while killing monsters and robbing thieves, but this simply would not do. She grabbed her conformer and drew a sharpening tool across one already flawless edge of her weapon. Looking ahead at the Western Hills, she smiled wryly.

_There's no better place…_

XxXxX

Vincent sipped his jasmine tea quietly as Tifa marveled over the servant woman's hair. The older woman had long, black locks falling down her back, loosely held with ribbons of red and gold, blue and silver, noble colors of the Kisaragi. The palace was full of such servants, their tresses shiny and sleek, soft as downy feathers, and almost always reaching the waist or below…with one exception.

"So if long hair is traditional, why does Yuffie cut hers so short?" Vincent's eyebrow raised ever so slightly as the servant became visibly flustered at the question. She murmured a hasty "it is not my business to tell" before pouring the last of the tea and retreating. Tifa merely gazed forward, confused, before turning a questioning look on the others one by one. When she reached Vincent, he near whispered his response, wondering if it were right to tell what he knew. He finally decided to keep his thoughts and shook his head slightly; it may not be his business, either. Choosing to find something else to ponder, Tifa stood and left, taking Aeris and Cloud by the wrists and dragging them off with her. When the babble had broken down and Vincent was left alone in the room, the silent gunman thought more on the issue.

"Women in mourning wear their hair short," he said finally, looking down into his cup, and felt the slightest pang of curiosity growing in him. "But what could she be mourning all this time?" he murmured, certain no one else could hear. But a soft shuffling sound came from the door.

"It isn't such a long time, really." It was Chekhov, leaning against the doorframe as she touched her bandages neatly. She had been one of the five Yuffie was forced to fight to earn her right as heir to Wutai; the shinobi had given Chekhov the fight of her life and climbed the Pagoda, smiling triumphantly. The lady smiled sadly as she gazed forward, remembering.

"It is common knowledge that Shinra and Wutai went to war, and that Wutai lost. What most do not realize is that Lady Kisaragi, Yuffie's mother, the greatest shinobi of her generation, was killed in the last battle; or that she was killed by the Great General Sephiroth." She looked into Vincent's eyes, as if knowing he would not reveal their secret, and Vincent caught a flicker of masked pain as she continued.

XxXxX

Yuffie stalked forward, her strides long and purposeful as she took one shuriken and cut her thumb with it, drawing blood. Flowers would not be a worthy gift to such a grave…

XxXxX

"She had been running to the Western Hills, you see, running to send her only child to safety before continuing the losing battle. But the General was too fast-he caught up to them even as our city burned in the backround."

XxXxX

The crest of the hill was graced by a warm wind that brushed against the grass, bending it slightly. One spot on the ground seemed to have more flowers than the rest-she threw down the shuriken in the center of the patch, one tip gleaming with her blood.

_It had been warm that night, too, _she mused as the wind blew her unruly hair in all directions.

XxXxX

"No one knows how long they battled, one-on-one, what her last words were, when she died, or even what he said to them as she lay dying…no one but our Lady."

XxXxX

Yuffie raised the conformer to a lock of outstretched hair.

XxXxX

"And they were not found for three days. Yuffie was…clutching her mother's body, but she wasn't crying. She looked…empty."

XxXxX

A few strands of discarded, raven colored hair flew into the wind as she raised the conformer again and again, striking out against her overgrown tresses.

XxXxX

"But in her other hand, was the conformer, her mother's weapon. And her hair was gone."

XxXxX

The blade of the conformer was swiping, tossing away what remained of Yuffie's carelessness.

XxXxX

"It was everywhere, all over the ground, lost in the grass."

XxXxX

She stood resolutely as the last strand blew into the wind, and smiled.

XxXxX

"There were no scissors. She cut it with her own hands, with shuriken."

XxXxX

Sucking the blood off of her hand and using a small spell to close the wound, Yuffie began her descent off of the hill, her step more lively than before, as if a weight had been lifted,

XxXxX

"And it's been that way ever since. No one has seen her cut her hair, but every so often she comes back and it is as short as ever."

XxXxX

Crossing the bridge into Wutai, Yuffie gave a wide smile to a small child who offered the ninja a shuriken made of paper.

XxXxX

"I suppose it will be that way…until he dies." She looked at Vincent strangely, as if she were inspecting him. Eventually he asked the question that plagued him.

"Why are you telling me this?" She smiled at him, sadly, folding her arms across her chest.

"I was the one that found Yuffie when she was holding on to her mother. And that look on her face…as if everything she had ever known was taken in an instant, that emptiness…I've seen it in you. I've seen it when you thought you could hide it." Here she laughed, if forcedly, guiltily. "You may not agree, but she is much better at hiding it than you are. It is, of course, what we are trained to do…" She turned on her heel, speaking so quietly that even he strained to hear her voice.

"He has to die. She will make sure that he dies…but you can't let it kill her. Don't let her promises kill her…"

He turned his gaze then, hearing the footsteps of a small person, and a voice echoed down the hallway.

"Sweet Leviathan, Chekhov! What's the matter?" A confused looking young ninja stopped in the doorway, looking backwards as she questioned.

"What's up with her?" Her inky black hair was short, swayed by the slightest wind; her stormy gray eyes were at once peaceful and turbulent. It seemed as though Yuffie hadn't changed at all…except for a half inch off the top, anyway. As she flopped into a small seat and sipped some of the jasmine tea left out on the table, she noticed the look Vincent had on her, strangely calculating, as if he were evaluating her.

"What's the problem?" She tilted her head and gazed straight at Vincent, who only looked back, violently red eyes hiding things she couldn't name. Finally, his voice, low and soft, crossed the room.

"Your hair is shorter than before." Yuffie paused for a long moment-only to nod before sipping her jasmine tea.

He had never heard her so silent.


End file.
